


Wrecked

by redwinehouse (orphan_account)



Series: Cranial Capacity INDEFINITE HIATUS, BUT A FULL STORY LINE WAS COMPLETED [34]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Comedy, F/M, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-20
Updated: 2017-09-20
Packaged: 2018-12-31 23:45:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12143712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/redwinehouse
Summary: Sherlock Holmes is a force to be reckoned with when the people he cares about get hurt. So when you are fired from your job over your morning stunt, all hell breaks loose. Your boss has a front row seat to the searing fire, and he is about to get burned.





	Wrecked

  


[ ](http://www.dazzlejunction.com/generators/image-generator.php)

  


“Will you knock it off?” Sherlock snapped, looking up from his phone. 

You stopped shaking your leg. “I’m sorry. I’m just nervous.” 

”You’ve made it perfectly clear,” he said, looking down at your leg. Although his words were sharp, he was holding your hand. You ignored him and stared out the window of the cab, trying to calm yourself down. Worrying makes you suffer twice, right? 

In only a few minutes you reached the school and you got out of the car. It was a rainy day in London, with the sun hiding behind thick grey clouds. Neither of you had bothered to bring an umbrella because it was a light rain, so you powered across campus, feeling the cold raindrops fall on your head. 

”Why did they put you in such a boring building?” Sherlock asked, looking around. “This place looks like Buckingham Palace.” 

With a shrug you said, “It’s the main campus. What do you expect?” 

_”Is that Sherlock Holmes?”_

”This place is worse than the paparazzi,” Sherlock grumbled, flipping his collar up as students began to take out their phones and take pictures. “At least I can pay them off.” He passed a boy on his left who shoved a phone in his face. In a flash, Sherlock snatched the phone and hurled it across the grounds. You watched as the student ran after it, using every slur known to the common man. Sherlock looked at you, clearly pleased with himself. “Kids these days.” 

After Sherlock threw the phone no one else dared to approach him, allowing you to get to the administrative building in good time. The hand that held the banister as you scaled the marble steps to the third floor was trembling. It must have been the same for your other hand, because Sherlock gave it a reassuring squeeze. 

”This is it,” you said, stopping in front of a deep cherry wood door with a metal plaque reading, “Gareth Abrams, _Decanus_.” 

”I’ll wait here.” Sherlock stood next to the door, clasping his hands behind his back. 

”Right.” You lifted your fist to knock on the door, but you faltered. Rather than wait for you, Sherlock leaned over and banged on the door loud enough for the occupant three offices down poke her head out to see what the commotion was about. 

”Come in,” You heard Mr. Abrams say. 

You slowly opened the door and stepped inside. The first thing you noticed about the office was the giant bay window that looked out over the quad. Of course he got the best view; he ran the school. His office was large, lined with floor to ceiling bookcases stuffed with books, folders, and what looked like manuscripts. There was a red throw rug under his desk and a chandelier hanging from the ceiling. In essence, it was incredibly elegant and massively pompous. 

Mr. Abrams sat at his desk, the light from the chandelier shining on his bald head. The hair that he had left was dark brown and he wore a tweed jacket with elbow patches. 

”Yes, please take a seat,” he said, gesturing to the red leather chair in front of his desk. As you silently sat down, Mr. Abrams put on a pair of half-moon glasses. “Do you know why you’re here?” he asked casually, taking a pen and twirling it in his fingers. 

”I believe so, yes,” you answered, wringing your hands. You felt like a child in grade school who was sent to the headmaster’s office. 

Actually, that’s exactly what was happening, now that you thought about it. 

”And what would that be?” 

Jesus, he couldn’t just come right out and say it? He had to play these little mind games and string you along before he got to the heart of the matter. 

With a professional air, you said, “I behaved inappropriately this morning during a lecture.” 

The dean tapped his pen on the desk. “That is putting it mildly.” He leaned back in his chair. “What you did was nothing short of gross misconduct of our school no tolerance policy.” 

You could only nod your head. “I understand.” 

He shook his head. “No, you clearly don’t.” He pulled open a file on his desk. “I see here that you have been teaching here for twelve years?” 

”Yes.” 

”Well, then it’s quite unfortunate to see you go.” 

Everything around you fell away as your heart dropped into your stomach. You felt hot and cold at the same time and your tremor came back. All of your life’s work was just snuffed out like a candle. You heard Mr. Abrams say something, but you couldn’t make out his words. Nothing made sense. Nothing mattered. 

”Did you hear me?” 

You jumped at the raised voice. When you shook your head, the dean rolled his eyes and repeated himself. “Because you have been such an exemplary figure at this institution, you will still receive your pension in addition to your severance pay. That is all.” 

You could only blink vacantly for several seconds before getting up. You were in too much shock to say anything as you walked across his office and stepped out into the hallway. 

”Well?” Sherlock asked. 

”He fired me,” you whispered before crumbling to the floor. You drew your knees to your chest and buried your face in them. Covering your head with your arms, you began to cry. 

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. Without a moment’s hesitation, he slammed open the door to the dean’s office, scaring him so bad that he almost fell out of his chair. 

”And just who the hell are you?” he demanded. 

Sherlock settled down in the chair you had just occupied. Crossing one leg over the other and folding his hands in his lap, Sherlock gave Mr. Abrams a deceptively friendly, thin lipped smile. 

”I’m Sherlock Holmes, and you must be ‘the leader of ten.’” 

The dean was taken aback, clearly shocked that possibly the most famous man in London had just barged into his office. “Leader of ten?” 

” _Decanus,_ you have it carved on the name plaque on your door. It was a term used by monks in medieval monasteries. They would usually manage themselves in groups of ten and the leader was known as the _decanus._ You don’t know the meaning ,yet you use it anyway because you are a pompous prick.” 

” _Excuse me?”_

”What’s your name?” Sherlock asked rhetorically, grabbing the name tag on his desk. “’Gareth?’” he winced. “How drunk was your mother when she named you?” 

Mr. Abrams could only sputter. “You will address me as-“ 

”So, _Gareth,_ ” Sherlock spat out his name, “my wife is in the hallway crying her eyes out and I have a feeling that you had something to do with it.” 

”She behaved inappropriately during class in front of hundreds of students. That is not something we tolerate in this administration!” The Dean stabbed his desk with his finger, his face becoming flush. 

Sherlock tilted his head. “Well, _Gareth,_ just because you haven’t had sex in at least a year doesn’t mean you should take it out on your best employee.” 

Mr. Abram’s jaw dropped. “What-“ 

”You have no family pictures on your desk, indicating that you haven’t been in a serious relationship with anyone. You aren’t a good looking man, so it is easy to rule out girlfriends and meaningless sex. You would never seek the company of a prostitute because you have an ego that is second only to mine based on your massive office and ridiculous plaque.” Sherlock pointed to the chandelier. “Paying for sex would obviously be something you consider beneath you. Your right hand is incredibly smooth and supple while the left is rougher. Most people would think that you use your left more often when it is in fact quite the opposite; you masterbate so much that you have to use massive amounts of lotion, thus hydrating your skin.” 

Mr. Abram’s face had gone beet red. 

”Your hair is uneven and choppy. You cut it yourself because you don’t care about your appearance and have no one to look good for.” Sherlock leaned over and pointed his foot in the direction of a stack of magazines in the bookshelf. “When I came in I noticed your hefty porn collection.” He gave the dean a cheeky grin. “Do put those in a more discrete place next time. Don’t want you to get embarrassed or fired because you’re in ‘violation of the no tolerance policy.’ Need I go on?” 

The dean was shaking in rage and embarrassment. “Get out.” 

”Give my wife her job back.” 

”I have enraged parents threatening to go public. I can’t.” 

Sherlock looked at a massive stack of papers on the dean’s desk. “What is that?” 

”It’s a thesis, ‘Examining the Role of Birth Plans and Locus of Control in Childbirth Satisfaction.’ I was a psychology professor before I became dean. I’ve been working on it for two years. My computer has been acting up so I printed it out before it crashed.” 

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. ”I see,” he said thoughtfully. He stood up and grabbed the half full cup of coffee that had been sitting on the dean’s desk. “Do you drink this with cream?” Sherlock looked inside. “Black.” he scrunched his nose. “I never liked black coffee,” Sherlock said before he poured it all over the manuscript. 

”NO!” Mr. Abrams screamed, reaching for the soppy pile. 

Sherlock grabbed the porn magazines. By now the dean was crying. “You really need to rethink your policies, _Gareth_.” Sherlock gave him one last cheeky grin before opening the door. “Courtesy of Gareth Abrams!” he shouted before hurling the magazines down the hallway, causing everyone to run out of their offices. 

When the shrieks began, you looked up to see Sherlock kneeling in front of you. He wiped your tears away with his hand. “I couldn’t get your job back,” he said gently, “but I _did_ make the areshole cry, destroy his thesis, and he will be fired at some point today.” He smiled when another woman screamed. 

Although your lip trembled, you smiled. “What did you just do?” 

”Throw some very explicit porn magazines that he had lying about all around the hallway. Hence the screaming.” he sat next to you. “It’s my fault you’re fired,” he said somberly, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart.” His blue eyes were filled with regret. 

”I’m the one who kissed you. All you did was bring in a picture to help solve a murder of a colleague and make that asshole cry.” You traced his jawline. “Thank you, Sherlock.” 

He took a seat next to you and you both watched as more and more people picked up the magazines. Their horror made you laugh so much that you had forgotten you were fired for a few minutes. Sherlock began to deduce every person’s reaction before they would pick up the porn. He got all of them right. 

Obviously. 

”That’s odd,” you said slowly. 

”What?” Sherlock asked. 

You turned to him, a grin playing on your lips. “Every single person took the porn with them.” 

Sherlock threw his head back and laughed. 

~*~ 

By the time you got home it was midafternoon. The reality of the situation had once again sunk in, and you had quieted down. John watched as you both stepped into the flat wordlessly. 

”Go upstairs and lie down,” Sherlock said gently. You nodded and made your way to the bedroom. 

”Well that was uncharacteristically gentle,” John commented as he munched on a biscuit. 

Sherlock took off his scarf. “She was fired today. It’s the least I can do.” he shrugged off his coat. “So you probably should just stop talking all together.” 

”Oh no,” John gasped. “She was married to that job. It meant so much to her.” 

Sherlock sat down in his chair. “I am quite aware of that. I did my best to get it back, but the dean has his hand’s tied with blackmail.” Sherlock smirked. “If it were up to him, she would have become dean herself.” 

John smiled. “What did you do?” 

”I deduced that he hadn’t had sex in a year, destroyed the only copy of a manuscript he had been working on for two years, and took his hefty collection of porn magazines and threw them down the hallway, which he will obviously be fired for.” 

John laughed. “You are a maniacal bastard.” 

Sherlock nodded. “Unfortunately it wasn’t enough to get her job back.” 

John was quiet for a moment before he spoke. “I think I might know a way,” he said slowly. 

Sherlock’s eyebrows shot up. “What?” 

John bit his lip. “You’re not gonna like it.” 

~*~ 

You were lying in your bed, wrapped up in the soft blankets. You were doing your best to fall asleep. It would be wonderful to stop existing for a few hours just so you could escape your depressing reality. You must have dozed off, because when John gently nudged your arm, you shot up. 

”I’m sorry for waking you,” John said. “I didn’t mean to give you such a fright. 

You rubbed the sleep from your eyes. “No, it’s okay,” you yawned. “I shouldn’t be sleeping the day anyway. What’s wrong?” 

”Nothing, actually. You just have someone who wants to talk to you.” 

You sighed. “Why do you always wake me up and be mysterious about the reason?” 

John wiggled his eyebrows. “Because it’s more fun that way. Now come on.” He waved you over and headed downstairs. 

With another yawn and a good stretch, you got out of bed, wondering what the hell is worth waking you up for. 

”Mycroft!” you exclaimed as your feet touched the downstairs floor. 

The eldest Holmes was standing in your living room, casually leaning on his umbrella with one ankle crossed across the other. 

”Good afternoon,” he said smoothly. 

”What brings you here?” you asked, happy to see your brother-in-law. 

”I was told that you lost your job today.” 

You looked at the ground, your face flushed. You really didn’t want that information to spread so quickly, _especially_ to Mycroft. “Yes, this morning. I was quite inappropriate in class.” 

Mycroft hummed and looked up. You saw that his eyes were trained on Sherlock, who you had just noticed. The detective’s eyes were narrowed and his fists were clenched. He was doing everything in his power to keep his mouth shut and you loved him for it. 

Mycroft nodded. “I heard.” he took his umbrella and pointed it at Sherlock. “And _you_ were the instigator.” 

Sherlock lunged forward, forcing John to grab him by the arms and pull him back. It was amazing the affect Mycroft had on Sherlock; just this morning he was blaming himself, but when Mycroft placed blame, he went into attack mode. 

Mycroft raised a lazy eyebrow at his brother. “It’s that type of attitude that gets people into trouble.” 

”Well, it’s your fat arse that gets you stuck in doors!” Sherlock spat. 

”Hey!” you snapped. “Stop it!” 

At the sound of your voice Sherlock deflated. “Let _go_ of me,” he ordered, ripping his arm from John. He sat in his chair and continued to stare down Mycroft in bloodlust. 

With a sigh, Mycroft turned back to you. “Apparently the dean was more than happy to give you your job back thanks to the antics of my brother.” 

Sherlock grit his teeth. 

”But the parents of the student who brought the issue to attention are not willing to let it go. They are threatening to take legal action against the school if they are to re-hire you.” 

”Prude pricks,” Sherlock muttered, earning a whack on the head from Mycroft’s umbrella. Sherlock immediately shot up and John had to tackle him to the floor to keep him from strangling the elder Holmes. Mycroft looked down at the men with distaste, but chose to ignore it. 

You rubbed the back of your neck, beyond embarrassed. “Yes, that’s what the dean said. I’m officially unemployed.” you tried to laugh. “I better start asking people for change on the street.” 

At this, Mycroft gave you a small smirk. Swinging his umbrella over his shoulder, he said, “Not necessarily.” 

Your heart began to beat a million miles a minute. “What?” 

”It turns out that the family is quite reasonable. After I _strongly_ suggested that their daughter should either attend another school or allow you to get re-hired without a lawsuit. They were more than happy to oblige.” Mycroft smiled smugly. 

Pure, unadulterated joy filled you from head to toe as you hugged Mycroft. Even Sherlock had a small smile on his face from his brother’s actions, although it immediately turned into a scowl as soon as Mycroft turned to him. 

Mycroft turned to Sherlock. ”Stop acting like a fool. It’s not my job to clean up your mess.” With that, he turned on his heel and left the flat, leaving you with your life’s work back and the click of his umbrella.

**Author's Note:**

> I really enjoyed writing this and any excuse to put Mycroft in is fully utilized by me. 
> 
> I'm screaming internally because the header gif is _exactly_ what was in my head when he sat down and gave the dean a cheeky smirk.


End file.
